The
High
Council
requested
that
Mishra travel to Travincal to head
the
front of
progressing demons. He was the
most skilled to do these sort of
quests,
his
magical prowess, uncanny
intellect, and muscular body being
the most
predominate qualities. In
Travincal, the man behind the
demons, calling
the
shots was the Archfiend. An
Archfiend, by Mishra's
definition, is
a
big
bad
enemy
who controls lesser evils, in
turn; they control lesser
evils,
and need to be eliminated.
Most of the time, Archfiends
wanted
power, and
to get that power, they conquered
land, pillaging its resources, and
if
they
had one, a Powerstone. Mishra's
definition of a Powerstone, not
to
be put
into the bad guy's hands, it
will increase their strength,
infiltrate
shields
and resistances, and something
that civilized cultures can't
handle.
You don't
mess with Powerstones, you let
them be. Travincal was
thirty
leagues from
Lut Gholien, Mishra's hometown.
After his parents were killed and
his
home
ravaged in Voltiarium and after
getting his revenge, Mishra
abandoned
Voltiarium. During this time, he
was only an adept at his magical
skills only
having just learned how to cast a
spell to slow enemies, but in Lut
Gholein, he
began to hone these skills and
learn stronger ones. He also
changed his
clothing while settling in Lut
Gholein, from the heavy coats and
furs
for the
winters in Voltiarium, to the
flimsy shirt and pants for the
ocean-side
Lut
Gholein. After twenty-nine leagues
of travel, black smoke flooded the
blue
skies above Lut Gholein. His
contigent from Travincal had left
him five
leagues
ago to set up a base. Mishra was
alone. He hurried along the road
and
forced
his way through the broken gate.
Lut Gholein's magical seal had
been
broken.

1 –
Return

Upon
entering
the
near-desolate
town,
Mishra saw the dilapidated wood
outlines of
the stores and houses he once knew
as a child. Traces of black and
white
charring were noticeable on the
exposed edges. Someone torched the
town. The
foul stench of Ratmen assaulted
his nose.

"How
unsightly."
A
small
shuffle of clawed feet behind him
told him that he
was not
alone. The metallic clang of
drawing weapons, cries of rage,
and
clashing of
weapons rendered the still air.

"Be
gone,
foul
intruder!"
The Ratman before Mishra grinned
showing yellow,
missing,
and jagged teeth. Ratmen only
stood three to four feet tall,
mostly
black in
color, and fur covering their
bodies. Most of the time, they
were
"little
annoyances," but now, their
purpose seemed driven by an
outside force.

"This
isn't
your
home,
scum! NEVER!"

Glints
of
metal
shone
throughout
the morning mist as each swing
brought upon
renowned
vengeance. The sparks created
showed the fervor of hatred
between the
two
species. Mishra landed the last
sweeping blow, a diagonal slash
across
the
chest and an upward thrust through
the gut of the Ratman. Using a
boot,
he
pushed the dead body of his sword,
turned towards town, and saw at
least fifty
other Ratmen. Pole arms, short
swords, and staffs were in hand.
Angry
faces
scowled and fingers pointed at
him. Violent hissing flooded the
air.

"You
heathen!
How
dare
you kill! Now you shall feel the
wrath of Ratmen!"
The Ratmen
charged, Mishra made a complex
motion with his arms, and energy
flowed
between
his hands in a turquoise light.
With the final outward thrust of
his
hands, he
unleashed a wave of freezing water
into the thick of the charging
Ratmen. A few
of the Ratmen shamans tried to
"melt the ice," but they were cut
down
before
the last sweeping motion of their
arms. The last few unfrozen Ratmen
fell easy,
either from fear or lack of
defense from recklessness.

Mishra
looked
at
the
frozen
statuettes before him. Clink. The
first ice figure
broke
into multiple ice shards and
cascaded to the ground. After
repeating
the
process of smashing frozen Ratmen,
he approached the last one. The
sound of ice
cracking, visible spider-like
lines formed on the solid surface.
At the
last
inch, before his sword hilt
touched the ice, the solid
crumbled away
and the
figure of the last Ratman fell to
his knees.

"Please,
don't
kill
Namakush.
Namakush don't want to die."

"Perhaps
Namakush
can
tell
me what happened here for
starters."

"Don't
kill
Namakush,
don't
kill . . ."

"Tell
me
what
happened
here, and you get an extra day to
live." Mishra
reached into a
small bag he had with him, and
pulled out some rope. Tying the
hands of
Namakush together, he solemnly
stated, "Tell me what I want to
know,
and I'll
keep you alive."

"Please
.
.
.
don't kill Namakush . . ." Was the
Ratman sobbing now?

A
tug
of
the
rope
pulled Namakush flat on the
ground. "What happened here?
Why did
you torch the city?" Mishra knelt
on one knee next to the prone
Ratman.

"We
burned
the
city
. . . oh, please don't kill
Namakush . . . burning was
fun . .
. we only did it because we were
forced to . . ."

"Forced?
By
whom?"
Mishra
grabbed a handful of hair and
tugged upwards.

Namakush
could
only
reply
with
uncontrollable convulsions and
whimpers.

2 –
Investigation

Namakush
could
only
answer
that
the reason for the burning was a
simple raid of
the town
by the group of Ratmen, and that
they were driven from their home
by
more
powerful beings. Mishra could put
up with him no longer, so he ran
his
sword
through the Ratman's forehead with
no expression on his face. Mishra
heard the
town whispering to him, "the
Powerstone is gone . . . we lost
our
Powerstone .
. . it is not only the Ratmen . .
. a darker, stronger force . . .
we
need that
Powerstone. . . ."

Mishra
became
horrified.
The
Powerstone
in the wrong hands meant turmoil –
it
meant
untold destruction if used
correctly in that fashion. Yet,
who had the
cunning
and expertise to breach the
defenses and get the Powerstone?
The only
people
who could access it where the High
Council of Lut Gholein and Mishra,
but he
would not have touched it; he did
not know the true properties and
uses
of the
Powerstone. He only knew that the
stone either worked like a
generator
or a
bomb – either way, high-powered.

Mishra
began
his
investigation
of
the raided town. In the weapon and
armor
shop on the
corner nearest to him, the smith
impaled on the point of his anvil,
blood and
guts dripped to the floor –swords,
shields, helmets, plate-mail, and
plate-legs
either broken beyond repair or
stolen. Across the street, was the
apothecary
bent over the counter, blue
skinned and foam at the mouth –
poisoned.
If anyone
was left in the town, they either
vacated or Mishra did not see
them.
The
narrow dirt road led past the inn,
where tables and chairs were
broken,
glasses
shattered, and people not quite
finishing their last swallow of
their
last
drink. He stopped before a pair
wooden doors, oddly intact.

Entering
the
Grand
Hall
was
like entering a maelstrom. Paper,
wood, glass, dirt,
pieces
of humans, weapons, armor, light,
and shadows threw the place into a
state of
beautiful disaster. He descend the
stairs in the back, right corner,
three
flights before entering the High
Council's Catacombs. Everything
was
strewn
like a hurricane went through – no
sense could be made of the mess.
Through the
door at the far end, the central
chamber stood the ornate chalice
which
housed
the Powerstone. Disturbingly
enough, he could see a
non-functional
replica in
its place. Stolen Powerstone,
extremely bad news.

3 – Retrieval

Mishra
prepared
himself
to
retrieve
the Powerstone. He gathered
various
alchemical
ingredients from the apothecary,
but unfortunately, the fabled
apothecary was
missing one key ingredient. He
would have to find that precious
ingredient
before he found the Archfiend, or
the Archfiend found him.

Mishra
circled
the
town
looking
for tracks of any non-magical
beings who could
not
teleport, or were not able to
teleport. Several sets of
footprints,
leading
south, were not the Ratmen's.
Instead, they made a V-shape and
looked
about two
days old. Not good on two levels.
Not only did he have to make a
detour
to the
east for the last ingredient,
these V-shaped footprints where
renegades
of the
Archfiend.

However,
each
village
within
the
borders of Ancaria had its own
method of
teleportation,
in this case, waypoints. This
method of travel would benefit
Mishra
greatly, as
it would cut at least half of the
travel to the last ingredient.

Mishra
activated
the
waypoint
and
was transported from Lut Gholein
to
Vinterweil.
Vinterweil – a region covered by
ten feet of snow, and still snows
daily – is
the place for the limpwrut root, a
jagged, brown root, but it is
under
the
snow. Mishra started digging,
creating a tunnel diving
downwards. It
took him
about six hours to find a suitable
amount of limpwrut roots. Putting
the roots
into the unfinished concoction, he
felt confident that he could
handle
the
Archfiend without being
slaughtered.

After
Mishra
navigated
out
of
the snow, two demons awaited him.
Somehow, the
Archfiend knew that he would be
here, gathering these roots. He
drew
his sword,
but Mishra was knocked down. His
own sword lacerated his left arm,
which would
severely hinder his combat skills.
The demons continued their assault
upon him,
but Mishra ran for the waypoint.
He sheathed his sword and using
his
right arm
and hand, hazardously moved them
in attempts to slow down the
demons.
Since,
the near-instantaneous
teleportation travel (waypoint to
waypoint) has
been
used to get here; all he had to do
was step on it to activate it. In
doing so,
it would re-lock itself until it
was activated again. Fail safes in
the
security
of these waypoints did not permit
hostiles from entering and using
this
method
of transportation.

Mishra
managed
to
stumble
upon
the waypoint after being hit in
the back by a
blow from
a demon. The other demon slashed
one of his Achilles tendons. Yet,
Mishra
escaped alive.

In
Lut
Gholein,
Mishra's
head,
arm, and ankle bothered him. The
loss of blood
before
transporting made him dizzy, and
with his lacerations, his mobility
became
limited. With each step, a new
surge of pain would shot
throughout his
body,
and nausea began to set in. His
vision became blurred as he
struggled
to the
apothecary's shop to gather
ingredients for an antidote to the
pain.
Another
two hours went by before he began
to stabilize. Within a half an
hour,
claps of
thunder and the splattering of
rain resonated throughout the
still air.
Mishra
started south towards the
Archfiend. South towards Hell.

4 –
Showdown

Almost
a
week
has
passed
since Mishra had left the southern
border of Lut
Gholein and
about a day since the border of
Ancaria. The weather oppressified,
becoming a
heat wave, lightning strikes, and
a sheen of dark clouds, more than
enough to
dehydrate a human from fatigue.
Mishra, however, was undisturbed
by the
weather
change, but the sanctuary of the
Archfiend was a day's travel.

Barren,
cracked,
and
caked
dirt
stirred as he walked across it.
Where the
lightning
hit, the ground charred and
crumbled away to create a
depression large
enough
to bury a body within it. Yet, he
appeared to be following a path
through the
storm.

Arriving
at
the
Archfiend's
fortress,
Mishra set up a diversion. He
drank a
silvery,
white tonic which created a double
image of himself. The double would
go up to
the gate and demand to see the
Caretaker. The original Mishra
would
then sneak
past the defenses, cloaked from
potential scouts and alarms. He
had
entered the
compound when the double was
violently torn apart, but that did
not
matter to
Mishra, as the remains of double's
body and blood turned into the
silvery,
white liquid and evaporated.

Mishra,
cloaked,
continued
into
the
inner circles of the compound. His
cloaking
effect
wore off before entering the main
central structure. Long black
walls,
dark
tiles, tall ebony pillars, and the
windowless corridor created the
tunnel
feeling between him and his foe.
At the other end of the "tunnel,"
a
faint red
glow emanated. The shadow of the
Archfiend was thrown upon the far
wall.

He
drank
the
last
two
concoctions he had. One enhanced
his abilities,
speed,
agility, and strength, the other,
would null the pain the Archfiend
would
inflict upon him. The Archfiend
stood facing away, gazing at a
yellow
stone,
lifting, lowering, turning this
way and that, studying the
Powerstone
of Lut
Gholein. The scaled, winged,
skeletal like figure's head paused
when it
was
looking to the left – the
Archfiend noticed the shadow of
Mishra.

After
a
moment's
hesitation,
a
large, clawed hand rushed through
the air,
strong enough
to rip anyone into strips of meat.
Mishra's sword swung for the
Archfiend's
neck in an attempt to decapitate
it. However, the Archfiend's hand
in
motion
closed in on the sword, trying to
jerk it out of his hands, but
Mishra
would
not yield. The Archfiend bellowed,
releasing the sword, causing him
to
spin and
stumble. Echoes thundered
throughout the cavernous room,
bouncing of
the
smooth, glazed walls.

"You
are
only
a
sacrificial lamb and have no hopes
of stopping the
destruction at
hand," the Archfiend snarled as it
rushed Mishra.

"'A
sacrificial
lamb?'
How
fitting for something like the
Archfiend to say.
I mean,
seriously, who are you trying to
get rid of? Your bad humor or
yourself?"
Mishra sprang back to his feet.

"This
world
will
become
mine, after this stone destroys
it, and you have no
chance at
altering that fact." The Archfiend
bull-rushed him, causing Mishra to
sidestep.

"Yeah,
you
have
no
sense of humor. A fact has
happened, speculation has not.
‘That
stone' hasn't done anything yet,
and will not do anything for you."
he
slashed
at the passing figure, creating an
incision on the lower back,
causing
the
Archfiend to howl.

"Quite
the
contrary,"
the
Archfiend spun, sweeping its arms
to slice him.
Mishra
stepped back, narrowly avoiding
the clawed hand. He brought the
sword
down into
the outstretched Archfiend's arm
and wrist, causing it to bellow
again,
and not
helping itself, the Archfiend drew
its arm back, creating more
tearing
of
flesh. The Archfiend threw a punch
aimed for his head.

"Do
you
ever
learn
anything?" Mishra ducked, rammed
his sword through the
outstretched
left arm of the Archfiend, and
brought the tip down to the floor.
A
long gouge
appeared, along with blood
spraying, and a fresh howl from
the
Archfiend.

"You
will
die
here,
and now!" But the Archfiend in its
rage, continued to
give
openings to Mishra to "dissect."
Each punch, kick, charge, and
spin, in
its
vehement momentum, allowed him to
inflict serious enough wounds that
eventually
put the Archfiend kneeling on the
floor.

"First,
through
the
heart,"
Mishra stabbed his sword through
the heart of the
Archfiend, which bellowed in
immense pain, "and now off with
the head."
After
pulling the sword out, a strong
sweeping motion removed the head
and
the right
forearm that tried to block the
blow. As the head tumbled off,
Mishra
kicked
the body of the Archfiend away
from him, turned and grabbed the
Powerstone.

5 –
Restoration

The
Hell
in
which
Mishra
found himself in started to
crumble and sink into
the
world. With the Powerstone still
in his hand, he ran for his life.

When
he
reached
the
edge
where the world was not falling in
on itself, he
paused, lay
down, and breathed deeply for the
first time in days.

Mishra
returned
to
Lut
Gholein,
the Powerstone pulsating its light
through his
clenched hand. He restored Lut
Gholein to its former glory before
he
left it
years ago. However, Mishra could
not restore life to the people of
the
town.
One would need the Lifestone, but
that's another story for a
different
time.